From a boy's innocent heart, you kept the rain from falling on them, with years of labor in the sun's fire, your skin ruddy and freckled, burnished head of hair, tall as the waving reeds. Damn the injustice of working so strongly to please them, benevolent son, as your parents forsook you, the loving Lord is gonna take you up. Rough, broadened hands of a laborer, you were still loyal, your devotion didn't come with a price- yet, theirs did, the loving Lord is gonna take you up.